


Once Again

by Celia_and



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Groundhog Day, Happy ending in modern AU, Hybrid canonverse and modern AU, I'm Sorry, Inspired by Edge of Tomorrow, Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker Fix-It, Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker Spoilers, This is going to hurt more before it hurts less, it was all a dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:22:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22124785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celia_and/pseuds/Celia_and
Summary: He looks down at his gloved hands and black cloak and crimson weapon, and the realization staggers him. There’s a reason the dream isn’t letting him stop the brutality, because he isn’t the hero.He’s the villain.----------In dreams, Ben relives it all over and over again until he gets it right.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 146
Kudos: 428





	1. Not Yet

Ben dreams.

He dreams of deserts and ice, of love and betrayal and redemption. His parents are there, with some people he knows and others he doesn’t. He dreams of a conflict old as time and of stars. A universe of stars.

* * *

Sometimes, in a haze, he hears a slow, steady _beep beep beep beep_ , and a low hum of some sort of machine. He thinks that he’s lying down, cocooned in white. He hears the murmur of far-off voices that feel less real than the ones in his dreams.

* * *

Over time, the dreams change and sharpen. He is no longer an invisible observer, a non-corporeal witness to the story. Suddenly he has his body back, shrouded in black. His head feels heavy, and when he raises his hand to his temple it collides with a metal helmet. He’s in the interior of some sort of spacecraft, and he can hear the commotion of a battle outside. As he approaches the exit ramp he hears screams and sees fire, a village burning. Troops in white armor terrorize and kill innocents. _He needs to stop it._

He rips off his helmet and desperately yells, “Stop that! Stop firing!” to the nearest aggressors. To his surprise, they listen and obey immediately, lowering their weapons. He runs toward the next cluster of armored troopers, but before he can reach them, his vision whites out and the scene before him disappears.

He drifts in limbo for a few seconds before it begins again. He comes to inside the ship once more, with the helmet back on and the sounds of the battle unabated outside. This time he takes the helmet off before he runs outside, yelling, “Hold fire!” Once again, the troops comply, but once again, his world goes white.

Ben tries everything he can think of. The next time he regains consciousness, he goes to a different group of troopers—who are burning homes, not shooting blasters—to stop them. _White._ He descends the ramp, sneaks up behind a trooper and knocks him to the ground. _White._ He leaves the craft, ignites his weapon, and cuts down a trooper about to fire on a fleeing ship. _White._ He just stands in the mouth of the vessel, helplessly watching the chaos before him. _White._

The scene relentlessly refuses to advance. Unlike his preceding dreams, which played out in front of him like a movie, this one seems to be waiting for him to do something, but he doesn’t know what. He thinks back to what came before: the conflict of good and evil, light and dark. He watches the army around him rain fire and destruction—this army that obeys his commands. He looks down at his gloved hands and black cloak and crimson weapon, and the realization staggers him. There’s a reason the dream isn’t letting him stop the brutality, because he isn’t the hero.

He’s the villain.

* * *

The only way he can make the violence stop is to achieve whatever he’s here for, he thinks. This time, he strides forward to where an old man is being held, apparently for him. Ben falters as he approaches, wondering what the dream wants him to do. Kill him? Why would _he_ need to kill him; why couldn’t his troops do it, unless the man has some information he needs? He thinks back to the dreams that came before.

“I need information,” he rasps, the metallic quality of his voice startling him. “And you have it.”

The old man doesn’t respond, just looks up at him, waiting.

“You know what I want,” he ventures, hoping he can bluff the captive into telling him, but the man stays relentlessly silent. Ben takes a guess. “You know where Leia is.” _Dammit,_ he thinks, as his vision whites.

* * *

He tries again and again. It would be tedious if not for the screams of destruction surrounding him. He wants so badly to make it stop. Each time, his guess is wrong, and there’s never an indication that he’s getting closer. _What am I supposed to want?_ Ben asks the old man about every person he can think of, and none of them are right. He moves on to inanimate objects: a weapon? _White._ A key? _White._ A map? He hesitates, waiting for the world to dissolve, and it does, but somehow more slowly this time. _Is this a clue?_ he wonders. _Am I on the right track?_

Now he redoubles his efforts. He asks for a map to rebel headquarters. _White._ A map to a weapon. _White._ A map to a hidden planet, to Leia Organa, to Han Solo. _White, white, white._ A map to Luke Skywalker. The world doesn’t go white. The old man answers. And the dream goes on.

He has to kill the old man and take the rebel pilot as prisoner. He tries to spare the villagers—tries dozens of times, every way he can think of—but it’s no use. The dream won’t let him.

Under the mask, tears stream down his face. _“Kill them all.”_

* * *

The dream shifts. Ben breathes. He is once again a spectator, not a participant.

He sees a wreck of an old vessel and a lone figure scavenging its parts. She removes her goggles and face wrap, and a memory itches as the back of Ben’s mind. _I know her,_ he thinks, though he doesn’t know how. She trades her haul for an inadequate meal, which she eats while surveying her desert home.

He dreams that she refuses to sell the valuable droid she finds in the desert, though it would’ve fed her for months. She escapes and teams up with his father, and jealousy nags at the back of Ben’s mind. _My dream, my dad. Why does she get to be on his side?_ The dream is toying with him in more ways than one.

It next requires his participation in the great hall of a pinched, wrinkled monster.

“There has been an awakening. Have you felt it?” the monster—Snoke—asks.

“Yes,” Ben answers.

Snoke proceeds, “The droid we seek is aboard the Millennium Falcon, in the hands of your father, Han Solo.” He pauses, waiting for Ben’s reply.

Ben freezes, wondering what the dream wants of him. “I’ll go find it, recover it,” he guesses. But the monster’s face fades as the scene dissolves again to white.

* * *

When he regains consciousness again on his ship, he takes a moment to fix everything in his memory, recalling what to say and not to say. He should’ve said something about his father, not volunteered to find the droid.

He performs his part again, interrogating the old man and killing him. Capturing the pilot and ordering the murder of the villagers. It isn’t any easier this time.

When the dream shows him Rey again, he sees little details that he missed before. The dried flowers in a vase on her table, the doll nestled on a shelf. He tries to estimate the number of scratches that count the days of her solitary existence but gives up.

His father reappears: a gruff but endearing conman. Any softness Ben had been starting to feel toward the girl disappears in envy. When Snoke prompts him about his father, this time he knows what to say.

“He means nothing to me.”

* * *

A vision—hers. Ben watches a young Rey watching her parents leave. He flashes in and out of her consciousness, one moment visible to her, the next an observer. She looks up at him with fear and horror, and he hates how much he frightens her.

He wishes they had more time together. But if they did, the dream would probably make him do terrible things to her. So he watches and waits.

* * *

He descends the ramp of his ship to a new burning ruin. A trooper reports, “Sir, the droid was spotted heading west. With a girl.”

Ben whips around. He pursues her through a forest untouched by time, fearing what he will need to do when he finds her. They are adversaries, and the dream needs him to find the droid, or the map. When he overtakes her, he advances rapidly, deflecting her haphazard blaster shots. _Please, just let this be over._ She staggers backwards, away from him, and in her haste to get away, she trips backward over a log. He rushes forward, hoping to subdue her quickly, but as he approaches, she lies still, her head open on a jagged rock. Her eyes are wide in death.

A gasp tears from his throat involuntarily, and everything goes white.

He’s shaking when he comes to. _She’s not meant to die. The dream doesn’t want her to die._ He could cry with relief, except that he has a man to interrogate and kill.

The next time, when he pursues her again, he advances deliberately and without haste, giving her ample time to scramble between the rocks. With a wave of his hand, he freezes not only her blaster arm but her whole body. She strains against his hold, unwilling to surrender. Ben just needs to get her back to the ship unharmed. He eases her into unconsciousness and catches her as she falls, and the dream lets him.

Once she’s secured in restraints for interrogation, the dream allows him another small favor. “A creature in a mask,” she calls him, and he removes it before he can think, trying to abate the fear and revulsion in her eyes. He instinctively freezes, waiting for the fade to white, but it doesn’t come, only a look of surprise and confusion from Rey.

He tentatively starts, “I know you’ve seen the map. Just tell me where Luke Skywalker is, and you can go.” He knows his methods are too gentle when the scene dissolves. _White._

* * *

_Kill them all._

He does it all again, and it’s harder this time. The dream is cruel.

_He means nothing to me._

The terror on her face is unbearable. He steels himself for what he knows the dream wants. He’s the villain, after all.

_A creature in a mask._

“Somehow you convinced the droid to show it to you. You. A scavenger. You know I can take whatever I want.” She winces away from his outstretched hand, and somehow this hurts more than anything he’s had to do before. “I know you’ve seen the map. It’s in there. And now you’ll give it to me.”

“I’m not giving you anything,” she spits back, and he loves her for it.

“We’ll see.”

She escapes, and he can breathe again.

* * *

Dread knots Ben’s stomach as his father infiltrates the base. Surely the dream won’t require the unthinkable of him. _Surely._

“Ben!” The yell reverberates through the cavernous space.

Ben freezes and turns slowly, stalling for time. He aims for cold, dismissive. _If I make the dream believe that he really means nothing, maybe he can escape. Rey escaped._ “Han Solo. I’ve been waiting for this day for a long time.”

“Take off that mask,” his father answers. “You don’t need it.” Up close, his face is more lined than Ben remembers.

“What do you think you’ll see if I do?”

“The face of my son.”

“Your son is gone,” Ben grits out. “He was weak and foolish like his father. So I destroyed him.” _Don’t make me say this._

“That’s what Snoke wants you to believe. But it’s not true. My son is alive.”

“No,” Ben retorts, trying to put the sound of feeling behind the words. “The Supreme Leader is wise.”

“Snoke is using you for your power. When he gets what he wants, he’ll crush you. You know it’s true.”

“I am loyal to the Supreme Leader. Leave, now, and mourn your son.” _Please. Please._

_White._

* * *

He tries again, and again, and again. He sends the troopers to search elsewhere, he goes to another part of the ship where his father won’t find him, he tries being even more dismissive and hurtful and reiterating more and more forcefully that he should leave. He kills the old man, he kills the villagers, he terrifies Rey. “He means nothing to me,” he dutifully parrots with each new iteration. The dream doesn’t believe him. _White. White. White._

* * *

“It’s too late.” _Please._

“No, it’s not. Leave here with me. Come home. We miss you.”

“I’m being torn apart.” _Dad._ “I want to be free of this pain. I know what I have to do but I don’t know if I have the strength to do it. Will you help me?”

“Yes. Anything.”

 _It’s only a dream,_ he repeats like a mantra. _It’s only a dream._ He drops his helmet and draws his saber deliberately. He only wants to have to do this once. After he ignites it, he makes sure to plunge it even further into his father’s chest, deliberately cruelly. _Is that enough for you?_ he wants to scream. _Are you happy now?_

The dream proceeds.

* * *

He is injured by a blaster shot, and he welcomes the pain. He looks up and sees Rey and his first thought is that he needs her, now. He scrambles after her. He knows he can’t go to her for comfort, but the dream has to let him at least physically be near her.

He heads her off in the forest. “We’re not done yet.” _Please. Stay with me._

“You’re a monster,” she spits.

_Yes, I am._

He knows what he needs to do. He attacks, forcing her to retreat with each clash of their sabers. She turns the tables, and when she knocks him down, he just lies there as the snow falls softly. _Just end it._ But the earth crumbles, and a chasm opens between them. _Not yet,_ the dream seems to say. _Not yet._

*****

Rey wipes her feet on the doormat, clutching her battered thermos of coffee to her chest. She hasn’t done laundry in a couple weeks, so she’s wearing some old mint-green scrubs patterned with suns wearing sunglasses. “Good morning!” she calls through to the kitchen where she knows Han and Leia are eating breakfast. She heads up the stairs and down the plushly-carpeted hall to Ben’s room. The night nurse gives her an update before she leaves, which Rey thinks they could probably dispense with because it’s the same every day. There are vital signs to be recorded and relayed, but what it all boils down to is _no change._ Some parents would’ve let go by now, but Leia and Han cling to hope.

Rey pulls a book out of her bag and sits down in the armchair by his bedside, angled so she can monitor his vitals, and settles in for another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> 
> 
> The amazing [@HouseOfFinches](https://twitter.com/HouseOfFinches) made this extraordinary piece of art to illustrate this line:
> 
> _He looks down at his gloved hands and black cloak and crimson weapon, and the realization staggers him. There’s a reason the dream isn’t letting him stop the brutality, because he isn’t the hero._
> 
> _He’s the villain._


	2. Scraps

If it’s just a dream, why does it feel so _real?_

The Resistance organizes some kind of evacuation. As the dream’s action continues unabated without his input, Ben is left to contemplate what this means. He will surely make a mistake again; he doesn’t naturally inhabit this villain that the dream wants him to be, so he won’t always guess correctly what he’s supposed to do and say. And when he makes an error, it’ll start over again. And again.

_Dad._

For the first time, he thinks about giving up. If he never leaves the ship to begin with, if he never interrogates and kills that old man, if he never does anything to set the story in motion, will the dream leave him be? _No,_ something in the back of his mind says. _You’ll never be free until you do what it wants._ If this is some story that the dream wants him to act out, it must have a resolution, an ending. What story doesn’t have an end? But what will it cost to get there?

His mind doesn’t quiet until he sees Rey again, surrounded by green and bathed in morning light. His heart aches when Luke dismisses her. If the dream won’t let her be with _him_ , why won’t it at least let her find what she seeks in others? He broods over her: this extraordinary woman, the hero of his dream.

* * *

The dream manifests Ben as Kylo again, and Snoke goads him. “The mighty Kylo Ren. When I found you, I saw what all masters live to see. Raw, untamed power. And beyond that, something truly special. The potential of your bloodline. A new Vader. Now I fear I was mistaken.”

Ben looks up at him, the abhorrent, shriveled figure on an ebony throne. “I’ve given everything I have to you. To the dark side.”

The monster twists the knife. “You have too much of your father’s heart in you, young Solo.”

“I killed Han Solo. When the moment came I didn’t hesitate,” Ben lies, and the words are bitter in his mouth.

“And look at you,” Snoke jeers. “The deed split your spirit to the bone. You were unbalanced, bested by a girl who had never held a lightsaber! You failed! Skywalker lives. The seed of the Jedi Order lives. As long as it does, hope lives in the galaxy. I thought you would be the one to snuff it out. Alas, you’re no Vader. You’re just a child in a mask.”

Ben is dismissed, and the dream drops him in an elevator. He looks down at his mask, and it’s all too much. He smashes it into the wall, again and again, trying to bleed off some of his anger and despair. When the elevator opens, he’s fallen to his knees, panting and weeping, in front of the officers waiting at attention for his command.

It’s the wrong thing, Ben knows. He can feel it coming a second before it happens, the dissolve to white.

_Again._

* * *

Ben can’t. He _can’t_ be here again, at the beginning. The white recedes, but he refuses to look. Chaos fills his ears. People shouting, running. But no screams. Why are there no screams?

Then he hears, “Forget the munitions, there’s no time. Just get everyone on the transports,” and his heart leaps. _I’ve done it,_ he thinks with elation, _I’ve passed the dream’s test_. He’s not back to the beginning—just to a little while ago, to the Resistance evacuation. His heart clenches as the realization hits him: he won’t have to kill his father again. He’s done the hardest thing the dream has required of him, and it’s been accepted, fixed into the timeline. His head spins with the implications.

Despite everything that remains unknown, Ben’s heart is lighter than it’s been in ages. He thinks back on everything he’s endured that he won’t have to go through again.

_Kill them all._

_He means nothing to me._

_A creature in a mask._

_You’re a monster._

It’s as if he’s passed one level and moved on to the next. How many will there be? What does the dream want from him next?

He thinks back to Snoke’s barbs. _You have too much of your father’s heart in you… Skywalker lives. The seed of the Jedi Order lives._ But Kylo doesn’t know where Luke is; he can’t kill his uncle. _As long as it does, hope lives in the galaxy._

Hope.

It comes to him with sudden clarity. Of course, Snoke wants him to extinguish the galaxy’s hope. His mother.

He is numb as he plays his part again. He makes his dutiful responses to Snoke, he smashes the helmet, he barks at the waiting officers, “Prepare my ship.” And the dream goes on.

* * *

When the dream shows him Rey again, she’s like a balm. She’s back with Luke on the island, pleading with him about things that don’t matter. Ben wishes he could explain to her they signify nothing, but he can’t. So he watches her and drinks her in and waits.

He only hopes that the dream will take pity on him, so that he only has to do this once. Like his father.

He sees his mother and feels her frustration at the rogue pilot. Her people are all pointlessly scurrying and strategizing, trying to evade an attack that can’t be evaded.

He’s piloting his ship. “Follow my lead,” he orders curtly. He dodges the Resistance fighter craft and fires on their hangar. Ben can feel his mother, standing on the bridge, and he knows she can feel him. She waits calmly for him, so accepting of death, as his thumb finds the button that will exterminate her. _Please,_ he begs the dream silently, _not her too._ And he hates that he’s begging, he _hates_ that he’s playing by some secret arbitrary rules. His resolve steels against the dream’s insistence. _Not_ her too.

Almost before he realizes he’s done it, he takes his thumb off the button. The scene doesn’t go white. Maybe she isn’t supposed to die. But then two bolts streak past him, doing what he couldn’t. He watches helplessly as she’s sucked into the vacuum of space.

 _Dad._ _Mom._

Ice crystals cling to her like a second skin, and he studies her face for a long moment. Her hair, a braided crown. And then—impossibly—her hand twitches, and her eyes open, and she lives. The dream accords him this small mercy.

He breathes again.

* * *

In her stone hut, Rey stirs awake, as medical droids stitch Ben’s wounds. She looks up warily, expectantly, and something feels different. All at once, he realizes. _She can see him._ He doesn’t have time to think why or how before she picks up her blaster and fires it straight at him. He flinches, but he’s unharmed. When he looks back up she’s gone, and he runs out in the corridor to find her. She appears again, with a furious scowl.

“Rey,” he says, with undisguised relief. “You’re here.”

 _Stupid,_ he thinks, as the scene fades. _White._

He does it all again, and the next time, he extends his hand in a Force command gesture and says what the dream wants. “You’ll bring Luke Skywalker to me.” She makes no response, and he realizes that Kylo can’t exert the Force over her remotely. “Can you see my surroundings?” he asks, genuinely curious about what the dream is allowing.

“You’re going to pay for what you did,” she spits furiously.

“I can’t see yours,” he muses. “Just you.”

Luke’s arrival interrupts them, and the connection is severed. But he can still see her, as she learns to harness the Force. He watches the look of calm centeredness on her face and just a little of it bleeds off to him.

She delights in the rain, and Ben wishes he could give her a world of rainstorms.

When the dream links them next, she calls him a monster again, mustering such venom.

“Yes,” he answers, his voice breaking a little. “I am.”

She’s filled with such yearning. She _longs_ for her parents with an unquenchable want, but the island’s dark cavern taunts her, keeping the truth veiled. _I could be your family,_ Ben thinks as he watches. He craves her like she craves her parents.

“I thought I’d find answers here,” she confesses to Kylo later in the firelight of her hut. “I was wrong. I’d never felt so alone.”

Ben hesitates before answering, but decides to do it anyway, dream’s rules be damned. “You’re not alone.” He waits for the white, but it doesn’t come.

“Neither are you,” she answers. “It isn’t too late.”

She extends her hand in the orange glow, and he pulls off his glove slowly, in case the dream in its capriciousness won’t allow sudden moves. He reaches out his hand and waits, barely daring to breathe, before grazing her fingertips with his. At the touch she inhales sharply, and his world rights itself.

When Luke bursts in and severs the connection, Ben is momentarily bereft. He watches her spirited defense of Kylo and thinks how trusting she is to forgive him, after _all_ he’s done. “If I go to him, Ben Solo will turn.”

And go to him she does.

This is a new trial. Is the dream truly giving him permission to turn from the darkness, or is this just another test? Does it want him to kill her, too? If so, the dream is foolish. _Worlds_ will burn before he kills her.

She arrives in an escape pod that looks too much like a coffin, and Ben’s heart falters. Her eyes are so filled with hopeful expectation, but she’s delivered herself right into Snoke’s hands. Into _his_ hands, in the middle of a docking hanger filled with troops. He steps aside and lets the waiting troopers cuff her; he knows that to do otherwise would arouse too much suspicion.

In the elevator, he stands silently behind her and lets himself look at her.

She pleads, “You don’t have to do this. I feel the conflict in you, it’s tearing you apart. Ben, when we touched hands, I saw your future. Just the shape of it, but solid and clear. You will not bow before Snoke. You will turn. I’ll help you. I saw it.”

She’s so earnest, so convincing, that Ben believes her. “Yes,” he breathes.

The dream laughs at him. _White._

* * *

This time, as he relives it, he savors what the dream allows him. The chance to see his mother. And Rey. Rey, over and over again, with her frustration and her turmoil and her indomitable spirit and irrepressible hope. When their hands touch over the fire, he shudders. He’s tempted to make the same error again, and again, if it lets him spend this time with her. That’s his plan, he decides, if the dream wants him to kill her. He’ll deviate from the script and spend forever watching her in the little ways that the dream allows. That would be enough.

This time, in the elevator, he answers her as the dream wants. “When the moment comes, you’ll be the one to turn. You’ll stand with me.”

He leads her to where Snoke awaits, and it’s like he’s walking to his own doom. Red-robed guards stand watch in an arc around the throne room, and Ben tries to see how he can protect her. He can’t take them all out _and_ Snoke. The monster jeers at her and disarms Ben before he can grasp for the lightsaber that flies to the arm of the throne. As Snoke begins to drag Rey, defiant and unwilling, across the polished floor, Ben can’t stand it. He charges the throne, with no thought or strategy except _Don’t you dare touch her._ The dream lets him get about three steps before it fades to white.

* * *

She fills his senses. This time, as Snoke slides Rey towards him, Ben grits his teeth and forces himself to stay still. Snoke flings her to a suspended hold in the air and commands, “Give me everything.” As the torture begins and she screams, Ben feels the reverberation in his own body. He would take it, for her, he’d take all of it and more if he could. But he can’t because the dream is a nightmare, and so instead he waits.

Snoke taunts her with the view of the Resistance transports being shot from the sky, one by one. Incandescent with rage, she calls Ben’s saber to her and charges Snoke, futilely.

“Still that fiery spit of hope. You have the spirit of a true Jedi!” the monster exclaims, as he sends her flying, the saber skidding and spinning to land before Ben where he kneels. “And because of that, you must die.” Snoke binds her with the Force and turns her to face Ben. “My worthy apprentice, son of darkness, heir apparent to Lord Vader. Where there was conflict, I now sense resolve. Where there was weakness, strength. Complete your training, and fulfill your destiny.”

Ben’s mind races. What can he do? A bit of metal glints out of the corner of his eye. Luke’s saber still rests on the arm of the throne. Suddenly, he knows. He rises slowly from his knee and approaches Rey. “I know what I have to do,” he says honestly.

“Ben,” she breathes, and he stares into her eyes, willing her to understand. Her gaze is beseeching as she looks at him and sees a murderer.

As Snoke rants, Ben crooks his fingers, turning Luke’s saber at the monster’s elbow, never breaking eye contact with Rey.

“I see him turning the lightsaber to strike true. And now,” the monster says, “he ignites it, and _kills_ his true enemy!”

The blue jet of light slices through the withered body like butter, and as he saber flies toward them, Rey lifts her hand to take hold of it. Ben gasps, and his vision doesn’t white. The dream allows it.

When the guards attack, he and Rey move together as if partners in a dance. She grasps his hip as they push off one another, and it burns irresistibly where she touches him. Working in tandem, they dispatch each guard one by one, until only one remains. Ben strains, caught in a headlock, and wonders if this is it: if this is how the dream ends, with his death. But she throws him her saber with unerring aim, and he ignites it to burn through the head of the final guard, who crumples. They’re alone. Ben tosses the saber aside and stands.

“The fleet,” Rey pants, rushing to the window. “Order them to stop firing! There’s still time to save the fleet.”

Ben looks around wildly for some means of communication. He runs for the doors to find someone who can give the order, but his vision falters. _No, please, no._

_White._

* * *

This time, as he relives it over again and watches her, it’s bittersweet. The dream will let him save her, but not her beloved Resistance. It’s a more-than-fair trade, he thinks, except that he knows it will break her heart. Still, Rey alive and well and hating him is infinitely preferable to Rey dead. So he cherishes the time he has and revels in the hope in her eyes over the fire as she reaches out to him. If this is all the dream will give him, he’ll take it. Even scraps of her are a feast.

He kills Snoke again, and together, they kill the guards. And this time, when she looks to him with absolute confidence and asks, “Order them to stop firing,” he walks toward her slowly, preparing for what he has to say.

“Ben?” she asks lowly.

He takes a deep breath, and his voice shakes. “It’s time to let old things die. Snoke, Skywalker. The Sith, the Jedi, the Rebels…let it all die. Rey. I want you to join me. We can rule together and bring a new order to the galaxy.”

“Don’t do this, Ben. Please don’t go this way,” she says, and her voice cracks.

It takes every ounce of his willpower not to give in.

“You come from nothing. You’re nothing. But not to me. Join me.” He extends his hand. “Please.”

She won’t, he knows. She’s so good, so suffused with light that she would never let herself be tainted by him. But he has to try. He’s still the villain, and the dream wills it.

She reaches her hand out, and for half a second he thinks he was wrong and lets himself hope. _Be with me._ But she calls Luke’s lightsaber to her, and Ben does too, before he can think. They’re evenly matched in power, and when the saber fractures it knocks them both to the floor. Ben pretends to be unconscious so she can escape.

* * *

Nothing matters after that. Ben plays his role. He knows he should be wild with rage and wounded pride, and he takes it out on his uncle. He’s inhabited the character the dream demands for so long that he understands better what it expects of him. Kylo’s evil is fueled by profound hurt. It’s exhausting, and Ben just wants to rest. But if it means Rey will be safe, anything else is unthinkable.

The dream permits him another glimpse of her, which was more than he dared to hope. Just for a moment. His presence startles her, and he can see her steel herself against him anew before shutting him out.

She’s safe. It’s enough.

*****

Once in a while, as Rey sits reading and listening to the steady beeps of his heart rate monitor, she thinks she sees some slight movement out of the corner of her eye, like the twitch of a finger. But it never happens when she’s watching properly. She tells herself that she’s imagining things.


	3. Parched

Ben is so tired. He just wants to rest. But the dream requires fury. It drops him into what used to be a forest, but is now just a collection of charred, fire-denuded tree trunks. He’s surrounded by nameless adversaries with whom Ben Solo has no quarrel, but Kylo Ren apparently does. He cuts them down, one after another, his lightsaber leaving glowing tracks in its wake. Finally he stands, panting, amidst the desolation.

What was the object of this slaughter? He turns to find a stone pedestal whose cover conceals some pyramidal artifact. Another clue, another quest the dream demands.

* * *

  
  


The artifact guides him through blood-red sinews of space to a planet illuminated only by blue lightning. He ignites his saber approaches his destination on foot, not knowing what awaits.

A seemingly disembodied voice rings out, “At last. Snoke trained you well.”

“I killed Snoke,” Ben says in answer. “I’ll kill you.”

“My boy, I made Snoke. I have been every voice you have ever heard inside your head.” The sound contorts into other voices Ben half-remembers from this unending nightmare. He passes a glowing tank of floating bodies tended by cloaked lackeys. “The First Order was just the beginning. I will give you so much more.”

“You’ll die first,” he answers, as confidently as he can.

“I have died before. The dark side of the Force is a pathway to many abilities some consider to be unnatural.”

Ben finds the source of the voice: a hooded figure suspended like a puppet from vast scaffolding. Palpatine. _No one’s ever really gone._ Ben sharply raises his saber to level it at his throat. “What could you give me?”

“Everything. A new empire.” As Palpatine raises his clawed hands with effort, a seemingly infinite fleet bursts from the earth to wait at attention. For Kylo Ren. “The might of the Final Order will soon be ready. It will be yours if you do as I ask. Kill the girl.”

“No.” _Never._ He feels the familiar tug, and the scene fades to white.

* * *

The dream drops him back in the fire-ravaged forest. Another waypoint attained. He will never again have to watch his mother freeze in space, or try to kill his uncle. He won’t need to deny Rey her plea to stop firing on the Resistance fleet. But he won’t watch her take joy in the rain. He won’t see her face in the firelight as she reaches out her hand toward him. He won’t get to fight at her side and pretend the dream will let it be real. The dream giveth and the dream taketh away.

He replays the farce, viciously slaughtering the unknown enemies and stealing the artifact. Finding Palpatine. This time, he knows to hold his tongue when he says, “The might of the Final Order will soon be ready. It will be yours if you do as I ask. Kill the girl. End the Jedi. And become what your grandfather Vader could not. You will rule all the galaxy as the new emperor. But beware, she is not who you think she is.”

“Who is she?” he asks.

Palpatine only smiles.

* * *

Rey runs a training course through a jungle, surrounded by lush green that couldn’t be more different from her old desert home, as Ben contemplates Vader’s helmet. He feels her frustration, her rage, and fears that just as he siphoned a little of her light, she is taking his darkness. They are both assailed by flashes of memories: Rey’s parents leaving. _Join me._ _Dad._

He watches as the Resistance learns that Palpatine has returned and is on the hidden planet of Exegol, which can only be found with a Sith wayfinder. Ben knows with absolute certainty even before he sees it that Rey will go in search of it; it’s who she is. He wants to yell at her—he _would_ yell, if he had a voice— _Don’t. Stay hidden. Stay safe._

His resolve steels. He can do this, he can play the dream’s games forever if that’s what it wants. As long as it means she’s safe. That’s all that matters.

* * *

The Force connects them again when Rey and her friends are on a wild goose chase through a desert planet’s festival. Her sky darkens.

Ben doesn’t know how much time they’ll have. “Palpatine wants you dead,” he warns with no preamble.

“Serving another master?” she sneers, and it stings.

“No,” he answers evenly. “I have other plans. I offered you my hand once. You wanted to take it. Why didn’t you?”

“You could’ve killed me. Why didn’t you?”

 _I need you._ “You can’t hide, Rey. Not from me.”

“I see through the cracks in your mask. You’re haunted. You can’t stop seeing what you did to your father.”

Ben takes a breath, groping blindly for what the dream wants of him. “I don’t want to have to kill you. I’m going to find you, and I’m going to turn you to the Dark Side. When I offer you my hand again, you’ll take it.”

“We’ll see,” she says stubbornly, and the implied challenge sends a thrill down his spine.

He does nothing, and after a moment the connection severs. He did something wrong. _White._

The next time, just before the link between them breaks, he rips the necklace from her neck in a silent violation that he would beg her forgiveness for if he could. The provenance of the beads tells him where she is, and he sets off: Kylo and Ben both pursuing their elusive object.

* * *

He chases her through the desert in his light fighter craft, slowing as he approaches her. His vision whites out, and the dream resets. What did he do wrong? Does the dream not _want_ him to chase her? He tries again, this time slowing his craft with the intention of landing before he catches sight of her so he can give chase on foot. _White again._

It’s a puzzle. The dream does want him to go after her—the scene doesn’t go white until well after he’s in pursuit. It only dissolves when he brakes. It occurs to him suddenly: it doesn’t want him to brake; it wants him to continue, full speed, toward her. To run her down and destroy her. _No._

Then he hears a new voice in the back of his mind, somehow more real than anything he’s heard in the dream. _It’s okay, Ben,_ it says. _Rey’s_ voice. _You’re okay._ He is filled with a calm that he can’t name. It feels like a cool hand on a feverish forehead, like a glide of water over parched lips. He wants this feeling to stay, and it does, just long enough for him to accelerate toward her at full speed. Long enough for her to leap in a graceful parabola over his fighter craft as time hangs suspended. For her to sever its wing. The passage of time suddenly resumes, and he tumbles end over end as his vessel rips itself apart.

He wonders if this is death, if the dream will finally let him go. But he comes to in the burning wreck and extricates himself with difficulty. He can see her all the while, trying to stop the transport she thinks holds her friend. Freezing the massive craft in mid-air with the Force and pure willpower. He knows what he has to do; to the dream, he is still Kylo Ren. As he nears her he reaches out his own hand, counteracting her power, trying to force the transport to leave. For a moment they’re locked in a stalemate, then without warning, blue lightning erupts from her hand. _Palpatine’s_ lightning. The transport is ripped apart and plummets to earth in a dozen pieces. Her anguished scream pierces his heart. He just stands and watches and thinks what this means, as she escapes.

* * *

The dream needs him to tell her, he knows. He waits for his opportunity, and it comes as she and her friends sneak onto his ship. The Force connects them without warning. He knows it will hurt her to hear, but she must. “I pushed you in the desert because I needed it see it. I needed _you_ to see it. Who you are. I know the rest of your story, Rey.”

“You’re lying,” she snarls desperately.

He continues patiently. “I never lied to you. Your parents _were_ no one. They chose to be, to keep you safe. You don’t know the whole story. It was Palpatine who had your parents taken. He was looking for you, but they wouldn’t say where you were. So he gave the order.” They both watch her vision—her _memory —_of her parents’ murder.

“Why did the Emperor come for me?” she chokes out. “Why did he want to kill a child?”

“Because he saw what you would become. You don’t just have power. You have _his_ power. You’re his granddaughter. You...are a Palpatine.” Somehow, he knows the words to say. The dream is giving him this much. “My mother was the daughter of Vader. Your father was the son of the emperor. What Palpatine doesn’t know is that we’re a dyad in the Force, Rey. Two that are one. We’ll kill him together, and take the throne.” He removes his mask so she can see his sincerity on his face. “You know what you need to do. You know.” He extends his hand.

“I do,” she answers resolutely, as the Millennium Falcon arrives to rescue her. He is left helplessly watching, once again, as she leaves him.

The dream shows him Rey talking to her friend. “He killed my mother. And my father. I’m going to find Palpatine and destroy him.”

“Rey, that doesn’t sound like you. Rey, I know you,” he insists.

She cuts him off sharply. “People keep telling me they know me. I’m afraid no one does.”

 _I do,_ Ben longs to say. _Wait for me._

*****

There’s something different about Ben, and Rey can’t put her finger on it. She checks and double-checks his temperature, his heart rate, all the readings. All normal. She wants to call his doctor, but what would she say? “This coma patient feels agitated”? She smooths his forehead and wipes his face with a damp washcloth and wishes there were something more she could do. But she can’t, so she settles back into her chair to wait.


	4. Fade to Black

“The Jedi apprentice still lives,” Palpatine’s voice rings in his head. “Perhaps you have betrayed me. Do not make me turn my fleet against you.”

“I know where she’s going,” Ben says. “She’ll never be a Jedi.”

“Make sure of it. _Kill her.”_

* * *

For the first time, Ben feels the dream’s action truly coming a head. Palpatine wants Rey murdered and will kill Kylo if he doesn’t do it. His life or Rey’s. For Ben, of course, the choice is laughably easy. Rey must live. The dream has permitted it so far; maybe it will let him give his life for her. Ben wonders whether the dream will allow it, or if he’ll be forever trapped in the hellish loop. And what if he dies? Will the dream relent, or will he simply be dropped into another unending cycle?

No matter. Regardless of what the dream concocts to torment him, he will never kill Rey. _Do your worst,_ he mentally dares the dream. _I can take it._

* * *

Ben sees as Rey and her friends catch sight of the ruins of the Death Star, lying across a turbulent ocean. He watches helplessly as she takes a skimmer and sets off alone through the deadly waves. The sea so nearly swallows her, and he can do nothing. _Not like this,_ he pleads. _It can’t end like this. She hasn’t made it this far to die here._ She reaches her destination, and he breathes again.

She scales the wreck with effort and wanders hallways tilted and filled with old destruction. Something in the ruin senses her in the Force and opens a chamber to reveal the object of her search: the other wayfinder. She grasps it warily, sensing a trap, and turns to find herself. A Dark Rey, armed with crimson blades, hooded in black. “Don’t be afraid of who you are,” her double taunts before striking. Rey defends herself desperately and is driven back from the chamber. As she falls backwards, the wayfinder tumbles from her hand and rolls across the floor to Ben. He is suddenly there, and he picks up the artifact and examines it, buying time to figure out what the dream will allow. He mustn’t let her leave with the wayfinder; it will lead her straight into Palpatine’s clutches. But he can’t just say so—the dream will want him to goad her.

He begins, “Look at yourself. You wanted to prove to my mother that you were a Jedi, but you’ve proved something else. You can’t go back to her now. Like I can’t.”

Rey is still shaken from her brush with the Dark Side. “Give it to me,” she grits out.

“The Dark Side is in our reach,” he insists. “Surrender to it.”

“Give it,” she repeats in a fierce whisper, “to me.”

“The only way you’re getting to Exegol is with me.” With all his strength, he crushes the wayfinder and throws it aside while dodging her attack. She swings her saber ferociously, and he ignites his own to meet her. He retreats, jumping down to a long metal arm of the ruin buffeted by the waves. She follows.

She is more powerful than he realized, and the only reason he can hold his own against her is that she’s blinded by anger, and hurt, and other feelings too deep to name. He pursues her through the spray of the waves, alternately gaining and losing the upper hand. The water rains down on them relentlessly, wearing away at his resolve to do as the dream wants. He doesn’t want to fight her. He _has_ to try to stop.

As she takes a moment to prepare a fresh attack, Ben deactivates his saber and lets it slip from his fingers. He falls to his knees, and he can’t see her through the white spray of the ocean. No, it’s not the spray.

His vision fades to white, and he begins again.

* * *

He can’t surrender. The dream won’t allow it. He must beat her or else die.

As he meets her in battle once more, he pleads silently, in hopes that the dream in its caprice will have mercy. _I can’t die yet. I have to protect her from Palpatine._ The thought lends him resolve, and he strikes with new vigor, trying to disarm her as quickly as possible. His attack forces her back, and she falls to her knees, panting for a moment, and he silently prays that she will surrender. But still she resists, raising her saber once more and countering his desperate hacking blows. But then she’s a half-second too late, and she fails to block the exposed side of her head. His saber cuts a red path into her neck. Her eyes widen in shock as she looks up at him, dying. Her body splays backward like a rag doll. _No, no, no._

_White._

* * *

When he comes to again in the charred forest of enemies, he can’t stop shuddering. He stands there and lets the battle rage around him, until the dream is displeased with the delay. _White._ It restarts over and over, and Ben just stands there until the shaking stops. _She’s not supposed to die,_ he repeats like a mantra. The dream doesn’t want her to. But that knowledge doesn’t stop him from seeing his saber sear into her flesh every time he closes his eyes.

When the shuddering stops, he goes through the motions over again, numbly following the dream’s script but all the while planning for what must come. He won’t kill her. Will she kill him?

As they meet again on the Death Star, Ben is filled with calm resolve. He parries her attack and jumps down to the metal walkway, preparing for what waits at its end. Ben relishes the spray of the ocean, the clash of their sabers, the physicality of it all. For he is going he knows not where, and this may be the last time he has a body.

Again, he renews his attack and forces her back, and she falls as he raises his arm in an imitation of what would be the killing blow. And then he slowly lowers it.

“Ben.” He hears his mother’s voice, and he could cry. The dream has granted him this. He turns, slowly, and sees her. As his saber drops from his loosened grip, Rey catches it. He turns back just in time to see her plunge it into his body.

His mother breathes her last. Rey feels it too, he knows. She deactivates the saber, and Ben falls. He blinks rapidly to clear his vision. If this is the end, he wants his last sight to be Rey.

Through the pain, he’s vaguely aware of her stretching out her hand toward him. He can’t move, can’t think. _So this is death._ The pain starts to recede. _It’s not so bad._

And then his vision clears, and he looks down and sees that what he mistook for death is life. It’s Rey, binding up bone and muscle and skin until he is whole and unblemished. He looks up at her.

She’s weeping, and she confesses, “I did want to take your hand. _Ben’s_ hand.”

She bolts, and flees in his ship.

* * *

_Dad. Mom._ _Rey._ Ben stands, contemplating the crash of the ocean. He’s alone, now.

Until a voice says, “Hey, kid.”

He turns, slowly, to see his dad. _This_ is the dream’s cruelest taunt.

“I miss you, son.”

Ben steels himself, knowing what he must say and hating himself for saying it. “Your son is dead.”

“No, Kylo Ren is dead. My son is alive.”

“You’re just a memory,” he chokes out.

“ _Your_ memory. Come home.”

“It’s too late. She’s gone.”

“Your mother’s gone. But what she stood for, what she fought for...that’s not gone.”

Ben searches his dad’s eyes. “I know what I have to do but I don’t know if I have the strength to do it.”

His dad raises a hand to Ben’s cheek with a little half-smile. “You do.”

“Dad.” He gasps, and it’s like a weight is lifted. _The scene doesn’t fade to white._

His dad smiles, and it’s the most beautiful sight Ben has ever seen. “I know.”

Ben turns and hurls the saber into the ocean with all his might.

When he turns around, his dad is gone.

His mom is gone.

There’s only Rey, and him. _Himself,_ not Kylo Ren. _Ben._

* * *

The dream continues to play itself out, but Ben barely watches. It’s finally his dream, _his_ dream, for the first time. He no longer needs to play the role of the villain. He, _Ben,_ can go and help Rey fight Palpatine on Exegol. The dream finally makes sense. It wants her alive, and it wants him as himself. It’s laughable, the notion that Palpatine could muster anything that he and Rey can’t withstand together.

He watches as she finds the throne room, and legions of Sith spirits surround her.

Palpatine speaks. “Long have I waited for my grandchild to come home. I never wanted you dead. I wanted you here, Empress Palpatine. You _will_ take the throne. It is your birthright to rule here. It is in your blood. _Our_ blood.”

Rey recoils. “I haven’t come to lead the Sith. I’ve come to end them.”

“As a Jedi?”

“Yes.”

“No. Your hatred, your anger. You want to kill me. That is what _I_ want: kill me, and my spirit will pass into you, as all the Sith live in me. You will be Empress. We will be one.”

Ben watches impatiently. Why won’t the dream let him come to her?

“The time has come!” Palpatine announces. “With your hatred you will take my life and you will ascend.”

“All you want is for me to hate, but I won’t,” she says defiantly. “Not even you.”

“Weak,” he spits. “Like your parents.”

“My parents were strong. They saved me from you.”

“Your master, Luke Skywalker, was saved by his father. The only family you have here is me.”

 _No!_ Ben wants to shout. _She has me!_

The hatch in the ceiling of the throne room opens to reveal the might of the Final Order in battle against the puny Resistance fleet.

“They don’t have long. No one is coming to help them. And you are the one who led them here. Strike me down, take the throne, rein over the new Empire, and the fleet will be yours. Only you have the power to save them. Refuse, and your new family dies.”

 _Finally!_ Ben is there, on Exegol.

Rey turns away from watching her friends die. She faces Palpatine, and nods.

“Good.”

Ben sprints as fast as he can. When the floor gives way to a pit, he leaps without hesitation onto a giant chain that leads down below, where she is.

“The ritual begins!” Palpatine announces to the assembled legions. “She will strike me down and pledge herself as a Sith.”

Ben advances armed with a blaster, easily killing guards who would block his way, until he’s brought up short by the sight of the Knights of Ren. They approach slowly, tightening into a circle around him.

“She will draw her weapon,” Palpatine says, and Rey ignites her saber. “She will come to me.” Rey obeys slowly. “She will take her revenge, and with a stroke of her saber, the Sith are reborn. The Jedi are dead!”

Unarmed, Ben is defenseless against the relentless blows that come from every side. They know it, and he knows it. There is no way for him to win. The Knights of Ren stop their assault and watch as he turns, looking futilely for an escape. Is this it? Is this how he dies, after all?

Then he sees her, and just as surely as he sees her, he knows that she sees him, _Ben._ The hope in her eyes is unmistakable. He just looks at her for an infinite moment. Then, slowly, he nods.

“Do it!” Palpatine roars. “Make the sacrifice.”

She grits her teeth and swings the saber up as if to strike. Palpatine braces for the blow, but it doesn’t come. She lowers her hand to show him: _it’s gone._

Ben feels the saber in his hand before he sees it. He is unstoppable now. He makes a little gesture of invitation, and the fight is fully joined. The Knights of Ren attack anew, with renewed ferocity, but this is child’s play. Nothing will stop him from getting to her. He cuts them down, one by one.

Rey draws Leia’s saber and ignites it against the Sith guards who attack her. Like him, she is a machine. They dispatch their enemies, and he comes to her. They turn together to face Palpatine, sabers raised.

“Stand together,” he growls, “Die together.” With a wave of his clawed hand, he sends the sabers flying and brings them both to their knees. “The life force of your bond. A dyad in the Force. A power like life itself, unseen for generations. And now, the power of two restores the one true Emperor!”

And then their very essence is being sucked from them, forcibly drained by Palpatine, and Rey screams beside him. Finally it ends, and they both collapse.

Ben stirs and turns toward her. He tries to get to his feet, but Palpatine binds him with the Force. “As once I fell, so falls the last Skywalker!”

* * *

He’s propelled backwards, flying in an arc and falling down a deep pit, bouncing off the rocks that jut out. With his last ounce of strength, he uses the Force to catch himself just before he hits the floor of the pit. He collapses onto the rocks and takes stock of his injuries.

His right leg is shattered, and an open wound gapes in his side, besides the battering he got from the Knights of Ren. His eye socket might be fractured, and a couple of ribs are likely broken. It’s nowhere near enough to stop him returning to her.

He starts to ascend, relying on his arms and his good leg, ignoring the blood that streams from his side. He climbs wherever he can, drawing on the Force only to help propel himself over otherwise impassible rocks. At first, he looks up from time to time to try to gauge how far he has left, but raising his head takes effort, and he needs all his energy for the climb. So he rises, hand over hand, thinking of nothing but Rey waiting for him at the top.

It might be a few minutes or a few hours. The time blurs together. He hears nothing but his heartbeat and the scrape of his hands and feet against the rocks. _Rey. Wait for me. I’m coming._

He uses the Force to lift himself up past a boulder that juts out, and when he regains his grip, he’s exhausted. It’s impossible for him to go on. But not to go on isn’t an option, so he commands his hands to move upwards, and his good leg, and he does what’s impossible.

He finally lets himself look up, and he’s close. Calling on the very last reserves of his strength, he pulls himself to the top, dragging his body up onto the floor of the throne room.

Palpatine is gone, and a scene of destruction remains. Rocks are strewn all around, as if knocked free of the walls by an explosion. But none of that matters because Rey is lying on the ground.

She doesn’t stir; she must be unconscious. He tries to walk to her, but his shattered leg gives way, and he half-crawls, half-drags himself a few feet.

 _At least she’s not dead,_ he thinks. _The dream hasn’t reset. I just need to figure out how to revive her, and we can go. Maybe meet up with her friends. Maybe grieve my parents._

He stands again, and limps toward her. He can’t see her face; she’s turned away from him. Even now she could be opening her eyes, she could be regaining consciousness. He just needs to get to her, to see her.

He falls again, and crawls the final few feet to where she lies. He grasps her forearm, feeling for a pulse. He pulls her onto his lap as he collapses.

Her heads falls back. Her eyes are wide open, but there’s no sign of life, no recognition. Ben looks around, waiting for the dream to send someone to help revive her. _Oh,_ he realizes suddenly. _She’s dead._

As he waits for the scene to fade to white, he thinks about what he should do differently next time. He needs to climb faster, maybe, or use the Force more to lift himself up to reach her more quickly. Maybe he can angle himself as he falls so that his leg doesn’t break. There are plenty of things he can try, once the dream restarts.

But it doesn’t.

He looks up, waiting for the fade to white. And it doesn’t come.

He looks down at her, and she’s dead. He clutches her to him in a desperately tender embrace. _What am I supposed to do? I can’t do this without her._

He thinks of her face framed by firelight, as she stretched her hand out to him. He remembers her ferocity as she fought Snoke’s guards beside him. And he remembers her as she was on the sea-battered walkway, and then he knows. _Of course._

He lays her back down on his knee and cradles the nape of her neck with one hand. He places his other hand on her abdomen. The fact that he’s never done this before is irrelevant, the fact that he’s never witnessed Force healing except when she did it on him is immaterial. The fact that she’s dead and not just injured, the fact that Palpatine sucked the life force from them, the fact that he expended every ounce of his strength to reach her. All entirely beside the point.

He breathes, and he channels his life into her. Everything that remains to him—and even some that he thinks isn’t his at all, but maybe _theirs —_he gives her freely. He’s not sure it’s enough, until her hand comes up to cover his, and she looks up at him and sits up on her own. It’s so quiet, the way she says, “Ben.” And her brilliant smile. He searches her eyes for a long moment, and she’s _here._ And she brings her hand up to touch his cheek and she kisses him as desperately as if it’s the last time, but it’s not the last time, it’s only the first time and they have _so_ many kisses left to them, he thinks.

When they pull apart, her expression is so open and hopeful and trusting, he can’t suppress a smile. A grin! He did it! She lived, _and_ he lived, and the dream let them.

Which is why it’s surprising, when everything goes black.

*****

It’s black for a long time.

The first thing he’s conscious of is a steady _beep beep beep beep._ He’s lying in a bed, he thinks, under sheets.

He opens his eyes and sees a wood-paneled ceiling. _His_ ceiling, from his room when he was a kid. It’s nighttime, and the room is lit by the dim light of a single lamp.

He looks down and sees someone sitting by the bed. Brown hair. Her head is bent, and he can’t see her face.

He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. _Rey,_ he tries to say. _Rey._

He tries again, and it comes out as the barest whisper.

Again. “Rey.”

The woman looks up.

It’s not Rey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I commissioned six _amazing_ artists to illustrate a scene from this chapter — please enjoy their stunning [art](https://twitter.com/CeliaAnd2/status/1240775999782039553).


	5. Remember

It’s a week before he can sit up unassisted. It’s a month before he can stand, and another month before he can walk. There are physical therapists, occupational therapists, everything money can buy. And everyone says how lucky is, what a miracle his recovery is. It was supposed to be impossible.

Ben’s done the impossible before, and it seemed easier than waking up.

* * *

At night, he lies awake. He replays the dream over and over, and like a worn-out film strip, each time it gets fuzzier. Details that he once thought were permanently etched in his brain start to fade. Perversely, he tries to cling to everything, even the bad. It’s his only link to her.

Because she is the only piece that never fades. No matter how many times he replays it all, she appears as vividly as the first time. And his longing never abates. It feels like a physical wound, an actual hole in his chest, as if some part of his flesh was carved out and no one’s noticed.

His parents see his depression and get doctors to do cognitive tests. He’s fine, they report. A clean bill of cognitive health, almost unthinkable given the duration of his vegetative state.

Ben tries to rouse himself and go through the motions of what his parents expect. He has long conversations with them. He smiles and laughs, even. Hugs them and thanks them and tells them he loves them. But the whole time, he’s in a fog. None of it feels real. What he had been so convinced was the dream now seems like the reality. And _this_ is the inescapable dream.

* * *

In the end, what helps is reading fiction. His parents’ bookshelves offer hundreds, if not thousands, of novels. He picks them out at random: pulls one off a shelf and reads the last page to decide if that’s an ending worth reading to. A habit he picked up as a child. When he chooses one, he carries it everywhere until he finishes it. The conservatory, where he sits with his mom in the mornings. The basement gym, where he reads on the treadmill or stationary bike or while lifting weights. The family room where he naps in the afternoons. His childhood bedroom at night.

It’s like an addiction, once he starts. Only the fictional seems true: an escape from the haze of unreality he wades through. He exerts himself for his parents’ sake, and they seem glad. They think he’s happy. He doesn’t remember what that feels like.

* * *

It’s an unremarkable evening about eight months after he woke up. Ben finishes one book and goes to a bookcase to find another, doing his customary last-page read. His dad sits in the corner, dozing. His mom comes in with tea.

“I forgot you used to do that, Ben,” she says. “Still reading the last page first?”

“Yep,” he answers.

“Didn’t Rey say she did that? Han?”

Han startles awake and mumbles something.

Ben freezes. Every muscle in his body tenses, and he can’t speak. His mother notices.

“Ben? What’s wrong?” Leia asks. “Han! Call the doctor.”

_No,_ he tries to say, but it comes out as barely a whisper. He tries again, and this time his voice works. “Who’s Rey?”

“Ben, you’re white as a sheet. Come sit down before you pass out.”

“Yeah, you’re not looking so hot, kiddo.”

Their voices wash over him, but the words don’t mean anything. He tries again. “Who’s Rey?”

“She was one of your nurses, Ben, _please,_ sit down. Let me take your blood pressure. Han, get some juice.”

He lets her lead him to a chair, and sitting does help. By the time she returns with the blood pressure monitor he’s recovered enough to ask, “Do you know how to contact her?”

“I’m sure her number is still in my phone. Hold still and don’t talk, or the measurement won’t be right.”

He obeys, just long enough for her to be satisfied. He dutifully sips the juice that his dad brings. None of that matters, of course. “What’s she like?”

“Who? Oh, Rey? She was lovely. The sweetest British accent. Brunette, and the most exquisite smile.”

Maybe _this_ is a dream. But he has to try. “Can you...Can you invite her over?”

“Of course, it hadn’t occurred to me that you never got to thank her! That would be nice, right, Han? Let’s ask her for dinner.”

“Sure,” Han says, “I liked that one. She had gumption.”

“Great! I’ll text her in the morning.”

* * *

Ben doesn’t sleep that night.

_She won’t know me,_ he tells himself over and over. _I’ll need to win her over, somehow, without telling her about the dream. She’ll think I’m crazy._

He forgets how to do this: to be a man that a woman could be attracted to. His convalescence has been like a temporary regression to childhood, with every physical and emotional need met by his parents. He should start looking into getting his own place. Maybe a job.

A dozen times in the night, he goes back and forth between wanting Rey to come _immediately, now_ and wanting his mom not to contact her. He only has one chance to make a first impression, and he’s not at his best. The only thing worse than never meeting her would be to meet her and fail to win her over.

She could be in a relationship, he suddenly realizes. Or married. Maybe she got tired of waiting for him, which he realizes is ridiculous, because she’s never met him, really. Never thought of him as someone to wait for. This isn’t the dream anymore; there’s no script and no rules about plot structures or dramatic irony or resolution.

And just like that, it hits him. _This isn’t a dream._ The fog of unreality slowly starts to clear.

* * *

It’s Tuesday, and dinner is scheduled for Friday. Ben is terrified.

He triples his workouts. He takes out his anxious energy on the treadmill and the rowing machine. He takes off his shirt and looks at his body in the mirror and wonders if he’s good-looking enough for her taste. His forgotten sense of himself as a physical, sexual being returns with a vengeance.

He wonders what she’s like—whether the dream got her entirely right. Will she wear her hair in those three buns? Will that fierce magnetism be the same?

How he makes it through those three intervening days, Ben doesn’t clearly remember afterward; it’s a haze of adrenaline and sweat and hope.

* * *

Ben sets the dining room table while Leia puts the finishing touches on dinner. He double-checks to make sure each fork and knife is perfectly straight, as if utensil placement will be a make-or-break factor in the evening’s outcome. He knows it’s ridiculous, but when the stakes are this high, he won’t leave anything undone.

He checks his hair in the hallway mirror for the hundredth time. He’s pictured in excruciating detail how much Rey must have seen of his prone, pale body in the months she was his nurse. He wants to look strong and virile, to replace those old images she undoubtedly has.

The doorbell rings, and he’s not ready. He’ll probably never be ready. His parents go to answer the door, and he just stands there in the hallway, a passive observer of the commotion.

“Hi, Leia! Hi, Han!”

“Rey, so good to see you, sweetheart!”

“Hi, kiddo.”

“Thank you so much for having me!”

“Of course, it’s our pleasure! Come in, oh thank you so much, you know I love pinot noir. Ben? Where is that boy? Rey’s here!”

She sees him before his parents do, and she smiles and walks toward him a little uncertainly. He’s still stuck to the spot, just drinking up every drop of her.

She’s halted in her progress in his direction by his mom calling on her way to the kitchen, “Rey, dear, Han will take your coat!”

She sets down her bag and shrugs off her coat and hands it to Han, who asks her how her car is doing, and in all the hubbub the moment where it would make sense for him to introduce himself properly comes and goes.

He stands there like an idiot, just watching her animatedly tell a story involving a dead car battery and a family of raccoons, and he realizes one thing for sure: the dream got her exactly right.

* * *

He tries to contribute to the conversation during dinner, he really does, but mostly he just wants to listen to her. He thought he’d kept the memories of her as fresh as they were eight months ago, but now that she’s flesh and blood and _here,_ he realizes how much he’s forgotten. The exact way her eyes light up and her dimples pop out when she smiles. The curve of her neck. Her strong, capable hands.

He can’t be making a good impression, but for some reason right now that doesn’t matter. Just watching her, full of a good meal and chatting comfortably with his parents in the candlelight, Ben can’t think of a time when he was happier than he is right now.

It’s not until after dessert, when she starts talking about an early-morning hike that she has to get up for the next day, that it occurs to Ben that she might leave with no plans to come back, and his panic starts again.

When she starts getting ready to go, Han goes to the den to get a book he wants to lend her, and Leia remembers that Rey left a spare set of scrubs in the house and runs upstairs to try and find it.

So Ben and Rey are left alone in the front hallway, while Rey puts on her coat and buttons it up.

“It’s nice to actually meet you,” she says. “I kind of felt like I knew you a little, but I didn’t have much to go on. I was probably just imagining things and attributing them to you.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, all sorts of things. I thought that you didn’t really enjoy travel; you preferred to be at home. And you liked little kids but you were worried they didn’t like you back. I thought you’d feel things very intensely, but try not to show it. Little things like that, that could’ve been in a fortune cookie or a horoscope or something.”

“I feel like I knew you too.”

“What? How?”

“It’s...hard to explain.”

“Well,” she says, and there’s an awkward pause. She fiddles with a loose button on her coat. “It was really nice meeting you, anyway, Ben.”

She holds out her hand to shake his, and when he takes it he’s intensely aware of the fact that this is the first time he’s touched her. Her hand is dry and warm, like a desert.

* * *

In the moment when she touches his hand, she lives a whole different life. A life of sand and hunger, of loneliness and wanting. Of violence and redemption and boundless love.

And when she feels him die in her arms, she looks up.

“Ben?” she whispers.

* * *

He doesn’t need to ask, he sees it plainly in her eyes. But he does anyway.

“You _remember?”_

“Yes.”

“How is that possible?”

“Ben. You’re here. _Oh,_ I watched you die.”

_Rey._ “You waited for me.”

There are tears in her eyes, but her smile is the dawn. “Of course,” she chokes out a little sob. “I didn’t even know I was waiting for you. Ben. You’re here. Oh, _God.”_

Her hands find his face, and her finger traces where his scar once was. She runs her hands down to his shoulders and his chest, seemingly trying to convince herself that he’s solid, that he’s _real._

He reaches incredulously for her. For _Rey,_ warm and real in his hands. When their mouths meet, he can’t tell if the tears are hers or his.

* * *

She takes his hand in the early hours of the morning and gently leads him to her bed, and he doesn’t protest. There’s no hesitation. They’ve waited so long.

He gives himself to her, then, and she takes him ravenously and gives back everything of her.

She clings to him, afterward, like he’ll disappear again. But he doesn’t, and he whispers, _I’m here, I’m here, Rey, my love, Rey._

And he realizes that what he thought was happiness has absolutely nothing on this.

_Joy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we've come to the end! Thank you so much for taking this journey with me. I hope that it may have been cathartic. I appreciate your kudos and comments more than I can say. ❤️
> 
> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/CeliaAnd2).


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